


Snowdrift

by hellboy



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Misunderstandings, Multi, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Polyamory Negotiations, Short & Sweet, Unrequited Love, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-22 20:38:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13174758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellboy/pseuds/hellboy
Summary: (written after Season 1) Jonathan begins to consider his feelings towards both Nancy and Steve, but of course no one knows how to use their words.





	Snowdrift

Jonathan starts to feel himself drift away again once school starts up again; like he was solid since the monster was defeated and his brother returned, but now he’s getting fuzzy around the edges again.

The sounds of school are overwhelming; people yelling and laughing, the clang of metal lockers, papers shuffling. It sends a dull ache behind his eyes as he shuffles his way through the crowded halls and towards his home room. 

People are parting their way for him, which is unusual; he usually gets shoved at least a couple of times. But when your brother comes back from the dead, people probably don’t want a whole lot to do with you. He grimaces and tucks his chin back to his chest, rounding the corner in to the slightly less chaotic history classroom and taking a seat heavily.

He’s had a persistent pain in his bones since November; like a slow healing bruise. He thinks it’s probably stress, but what does he have to be stressed about now? Will’s home, his mother isn’t having a breakdown, and the monster that lives behind the walls of his house only appears in his dreams.

He’s zoning out when someone drops into the chair beside him and startles him.

“Whoa, sorry man,” it’s Steve, holding a hand up, placating. His hair is coifed perfectly, and his skin looks healthy with sunlight and plenty of food. It’s a start difference to Jonathan’s paler skin and sunken eyes. He purses his lips and gives a slight nod, looking back down at the fraying edge of his textbook where he’s picking at it.

He can feel Steve’s eyes on him for a few moments longer and detects a small motion, but can’t see it fully without looking back up at him, and he really, _really_ doesn’t want to do that.

It’s not that he has a problem with Steve. It’s just that he’s pretty sure Steve has a problem with him. Sure, they defeated a monster, but he also punched the guy, got arrested, and hung out with his girlfriend, so there’s probably still some bad blood there.

Jonathan skitters out of the room before Steve can say anything else to him as soon as the bell rings for first period.

He doesn’t really think about Steve choosing to sit beside him until his quiet lunch break in the dark room is interrupted by Nancy, of all people. He blinks owlishly at her as she closes the door quickly, sending her long locks in a wave motion over her shoulder.

“Hey,” she says, sending him small, genuine smile. He repeats it back at her and looks back to where he was unrolling film tape. His fingers don’t feel quite so steady anymore so he puts it down and starts to fiddle with the camera – the camera she gave him.

“Putting it to use, I see,” her voice is pleasant – conversational. He nods, not looking at her as he cleans the lens carefully.

“Thanks, again,” he says, haltingly. She waves him off and wanders the room, peaking at the developing photos of the other members of photography club. He hasn’t seen them since before Christmas break, and he’s kind of thankful for that. 

“Where’s Steve?” he asks, eventually, trying to keep an edge out of his voice.

“Why?” hers is sharper and he jolts.

“No reason- you just… usually eat with him.” He says busy, measuring out the processor. His jaw hurts where his teeth are clenched and he forces himself to relax.

Eventually Nancy sits and pulls out a book, not bothering to answer him. They finish the period just like that and part without another word. 

# ___

It’s snowing by the time class has gotten out

# ___

Figuring out he had a crush on Nancy was easy. She was smart, pretty, interesting – she didn’t take shit from anyone, not even him. And she liked being around him.

Figuring out he had a crush on Steve was a little more challenging – he was an asshole. And he had beaten the snot out of him that one time.

But he was also charming, and protective, and brave. He was funny in a different sort of way, and he cared about people. 

He would also probably try to kick Jonathon’s ass if he ever found out he liked him.

It wouldn’t be the first time someone would call him a queer – it’s been a regular nickname since adolescence. Still, he wasn’t too keen on the idea of it coming out of Steve’s mouth, twisted with contempt. Nancy would probably try to stop him, or maybe not. He lets out a frustrated noise and lets his head thud back on the wall behind his bed. 

# ___

“You’ve been avoiding me,” his grin is wicked and it makes his stomach twist uncomfortably.

“N-no, I haven’t,” he stumbles and ducks past the arm trying to block his way.

“Yes you are, you’re doing it right now!” Steve doesn’t sound mad; his voice uptakes on a laugh at the end as he jogs after him down the emptying hallway.

“I’m just, busy,” he says, shouldering through the front doors of the school. “Work and, y’know,” he makes a vague gesture and keeps walking.

Steve hops in front of him and makes him stop with a skid and glare defiantly at the other teen’s chin. “C’mon man, humor me. Come over today. My place is empty and Nancy has some college prep thing,” his smile is worth a million dollars and it sends a pang through Jonathan’s chest.

After a moment of toying with his backpack strap he sighs and nods.

# ___

He’s trapped; too hot, with his sweatshirt and jeans still on, the blankets mussed in a pile that molds to the shape of them. Steve’s arm is heavy across his front, his body weight pining Jonathan by the shoulder with the top half of his torso slung across the other boy, breathing deeply into the side of his neck.

Jonathan can feel how red his face is, the combination of heat and embarrassment and probably a little arousal. How did they fall asleep? They were just listening to music. 

Steve snuffles in his sleep and it’s achingly adorable, which sends a shock of dread through his system. What happens when he wakes up and finds Jonathan there, in his bed, looking a little too happy about their proximity? He swallows thickly and tries to name all the states and capitals, willing his erection away by sheer force of boredom.

The other boy shifts closer, his fingers spasm through sleep and Jonathan is suddenly and horrendously aware that he’s also hard. It’s a normal reaction, he reasons, wet dreams, puberty, all that. It makes his throat go dry though, and his mind flash with images of the boy without clothes on in the same position. 

“Steve,” he hisses, trying to turn under the considerable weight of the sleeping teen, “I gotta go home,” he shoulders his way from under him, but as he turns, Steve’s arm tightens and pulls him so his back is flush against the other’s chest.

As he readjusts in his sleep, Jonathan groans internally, trying to wiggle his way from the death grip on the front of his sweatshirt. That is, until Steve pushes his erection against Jonathan’s backside and lets out a little noise in the back of his throat.

He freezes then, his heart thudding painfully against his sternum. The room is deathly silent, cast in the low light of early evening moonlight. He stares forward at the wall, trying not to breath and mostly succeeding until Steve’s hips tilt again. He lets out a pathetic little noise, an almost-whimper into the night and feels Steve shift. He bites his tongue and digs his fingers into the duvet to will himself silent. 

He hears a sleepy snuffle and hair tickles the nape of his neck before movement ceases and there’s no sound in the room for almost a full minute.

“Steve?” he whispers, shifting. The arm around his chest tightens again, stilling him. The hand strokes across his clothed chest for a moment, before sweeping lower until fingers reach the place where his shirt ends and pants begin. Fingers run against his bare hipbone, thumbing the sweatshirt upwards to reach more skin. His skin prickles and feels like moving sand underneath the surface and he’s suddenly unable to breathe except for another quiet, questioning, “Steve?” 

There’s a sleepy hum of recognition from behind him, making him swallow thickly. The hand brushes inward until it’s resting just below his belly button, stroking along the soft skin there, dusted lightly with coarse hair. 

Jonathan lets out a shuddering breath; he’s shaking, his limbs feeling heavy and hot under the feather light touches. Does Steve think he’s Nancy? He can’t imagine the mix up, but maybe he’s dreaming of her and just hasn’t woken up enough to realize he’s in bed with another boy. Something like dread begins pooling in his sternum, and he makes a decision to throw Steve off just as the other boy shifts again and sticks his hand down his pants.

Jonathan lets out a noise that’s a lot like a squeak and tries to shift away, but shudders as Steve’s hand brushes against his erection. Air rattles out of him in one long, shaky exhale – this is a new sensation. Someone else’s bare hand curling around his dick, brushing along the head and further down the shaft – it’s an earth shattering sensation. 

His breath hitches as the fingers trail until they can wrap around him the best they can in the confined space of his jeans, and begin a gentle stroke. The world is spinning, the bed they lie on the only point standing still in time. His hips hitch suddenly, uncontrollably, encouraging the sensation.

He whimpers when the fingers move away, a low noise on the end of an exhale which makes Steve huff a laugh into the nape of his neck. Jonathan flushes and pulls his arms up to bury his face in them, hiding the flush the best he can. Deft fingers undo the button and zipper on his worn pants and shove them down, where they bunch just past his hip.

Steve hushes him as he lets out another needy noise, his hand wrapping around him again without obstruction this time. Teeth, then lips close around his ear and tug making Jonathan exhale sharply.

It’s overwhelming, the feeling of his hand, hot and heavy and soft curled around the rigid skin of his dick, sliding over the skin with a practiced ease. It occurs to Jonathan that this is probably what Steve does to himself; the slow, torturous strokes, the way his fingers play at the head, spreading droplets of moisture around the soft skin. It makes him choke on a moan, burying his face further against the pilling material of his worn sweatshirt.

Steve’s mouth has move to the skin where the nape of his neck meets his shoulder, biting the thick meat and trailing his tongue against the angry marks that appear in the wake. His hands speeds up, wringing his quickly approaching orgasm out of him with a final, deft twist of his hand and a hard bite-suck on his neck; Jonathan cries out and shakes with it, feeling moisture splash against the exposed skin of his stomach.

He takes a few shuddering, deep breaths; his face burns, tears prickling at the corner of his eyes without his permission. It’s overwhelming, the feeling of Steve curled around him in a way that’s almost affection. He doesn’t understand this and it’s almost too much.

“Jonathan,” his voice is subdued, questioning.

# ___

He skips school on Monday; he doesn’t want to see Nancy or Steve or be reminded of his complete inadequacy when it comes to being a friend. He doesn’t know if Steve’s going to tell Nancy or not – he’s not sure which he’s more afraid of, the wrath of Nancy Wheeler or keeping a secret from her.

# ___

“Hey,” her voice is sweet and warm, and it sends dread through him. He mimics her and steps aside to let her through the threshold of his living room. He can see her eyes flick to the place in the wall where it’s just fresh plaster. He swallows and looks away.

“I brought you notes from today,” she offers the stack of notebook paper peacefully - he can see highlighter on places and it makes him want to smile because she’s so painfully thoughtful. “Are you feeling better?”

It’s such an innocent question but he shakes with it and frowns even as he nods. He can feel her staring at him and it makes him want to crawl away and hide.

“Thanks,” he says and she just stands there for a few beats.

“Jonathan, are you okay?” her concern is so genuine it hurts and he feels like the worst person on the planet. This girl was everything – strong and smart and brave, and just so very far away from him. 

He nods, “yeah, just still kind of,” he waves his hand vaguely and glances towards her. “I’m, uh, probably going to head back to bed. Thanks for the notes,” he stands and edges as far away from her as possible until she take the hint and drops the notes on the cluttered coffee table.

She shoots another concerned look over her shoulder as she closes the door behind her and he exhales with a deep ‘woosh.’

# ___

When he does return to school, it’s even worse. Steve still tries to sit with him in homeroom and sends him these pathetic, worried glances every time he mumbles halfheartedly through a response. 

He scurries between his classes with his head down and starts to eat lunch by himself in his car. It probably makes him seem even weirder to the general populations of Hawkins High School but he only has six more months of enduring it and then he can try his hand at being less of a fuck up in New York.

One day, Will stops him and asks, “Hey, are you alright?” in the most concerned way a younger brother can.

It kind of startles him because he wasn’t sure there was that much of a difference at home, and he asks, “Do I seem like I’m not?”

“No, well, maybe,” he says, fiddling with his backpack straps. “Nancy stopped me when I was leaving and asked if you were doing okay and, I don’t know, you kind of seem down. Like, more than usual.”

There’s an edge of humor at the end and he reaches over the car console to shove at him playfully. 

After a moment of comfortable silence; the rattle of the engine and the click that keeps happening when he switches on the heat; Will says, “You are, though, right? Okay, I mean?”

He thinks about lying but with all that’s happened, it doesn’t feel right.

“No, not really. But I will be,” he sends a private smile his way and it’s mirrored back at him.

# ___

It’s almost spring when it all comes crashing down. 

The monster has been absent from town for almost four months. Will still has nightmares and his mom still has a sledgehammer in the living room, but they redid the wallpaper so the plaster only shows on the outside of the house now.

He hasn’t spoken to Nancy in weeks, and Steve for longer. It makes his stomach hurt when he sees them sometimes because they should look at him with disdain but they don’t, they just look at him and it looks like they’re in pain. 

He doesn’t think that’s very fair, but he probably also doesn’t get a say in the emotional outcome of his actions.

He’s not really sure if Steve told Nancy or not – he can’t imagine it well either way, but they’re still together from what they seem like at school. So either Nancy doesn’t know, or she does know and just hates Jonathan for it.

They’re in fourth period when a siren comes over the loud speaker at school. It makes his blood run cold and his eyes immediately shoot across the room to where Nancy is seated close to the front.

It’s not the monster, but it’s another, very real threat in their part of the world. 

Everyone files out into the gymnasium; everyone’s footsteps are a little too hurried to be casual. Tornadoes are common enough, but there is the reality of how much damage they do each season.

He sits with his back to the cool concrete wall and ducks his head like instructed, breathing measured. When he glances up again, he’s boxed in by Steve and Nancy. His heart goes into overdrive immediately and he wants to get up to move but he can’t, not with the teachers walking their way around the room ensuring everyone stays seated.

The distant sound of roaring sends the room into a murmuring silence. His eyes trail along the high ceiling of the gym, trailing the lights as they sway slightly. 

They can tell it’s closer when the room shakes. He ducks his head like they’re instructed and squeezes his eyes shut.

He can see flashing lights and hear Nancy yelling; the bat is a solid weight in his hand. His heart is in his throat but he can feel hands on his back, pulling him down to earth, anchoring him in the room. His shoulders are warm where they have both laid their hands on either side of his neck; a comforting gesture.

He can feel Nancy’s hair brushing against his hand and Steve’s breaths heating the cotton of his sweatshirt. He’s surrounded by them.

“We need to talk,” Nancy’s voice is cool, and it makes him swallow before nodding into his crossed arms.

# ___

“You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington,” her voice has very little amusement on the edge, but it’s still a playful enough line between them.

“We were half asleep! I figured he’d ask me things in the morning, but then he was gone, and he wouldn’t talk to me, and, and,” he looks at Jonathan desperately, “I thought you hated me,” his voice cracks on the last syllable and he feels like the worst person on the planet.

“No, I,” he makes a frustrated noise, “I didn’t know what was going on. I still don’t.” He looks at Nancy helplessly who sighs and rolls her eyes.

“We like you,” she annunciates, “as in, we want to be with you. Together. All of us.” She points between them all. “If you’re okay with that.” Her eyes shine and he has to look away but then he’s looking at Steve who looks so much like a goddamn kid with that dumbstruck look of hope on his face that he can’t take it.

“I just don’t… understand why.” He mumbles in to his chest; his shoes are worn all over and it makes him feel even more inadequate in their presence. 

Nancy’s shoes come into view; brown loafers. Her small hands touch his face and brush along the space between his jaw and his ear which makes his teeth grind through a shiver. Her eyes are bright – so bright, he loses himself in them all the way until she kisses him and those starlight eyes slip closed. And then he’s kissing Nancy Wheeler and it makes his stomach jump and his hands shake and he’s freaking out.

“Please don’t be messing with me,” he mumbles when she pulls away and she lets out a small, sad noise at that and presses another chaste kiss against him; his heart flutters.

Steve’s kisses are different; stronger and more demanding but also so, so attentive. His lips are rougher than Nancy’s and the differences are delightful. The way he wraps his hands around his head, pushing his fingers through Jonathan’s mousy hair and tugging lightly; it makes him gasp and bring his fingers forward against his hips, spreading along the unyielding shape of his abdomen.

When he backs away, Jonathan lets out a low noise of protest before biting his tongue. But Steve laughs, sweetly, affectionately, and gives him a short, chaste kiss, just like Nancy did.

They’re both peering at him, bright and hopeful and happy and it makes his heart break that he almost didn’t have this.

**Author's Note:**

> i just found this again on my computer and liked how it turned out. written just after I binged season 1 for the third time, so written without the considering of season 2. enjoy~


End file.
